


I'll hold your heart if you let me

by Felixseo (kafkao)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, and v v v side seunglix, i want to say slow burn but it isn’t really, rated teen and up because there's mentions of sexy stuff but no actual smut, side BinSung
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 22:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17354069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kafkao/pseuds/Felixseo
Summary: “Channie?” Minho says softly. Chan's eyes flicker up towards Minho standing in the doorway. “What’s wrong?” he asks,Chan sighs, like there’s a terrible burden resting on his shoulders, before he finally mumbles out,“I have a crush.”





	I'll hold your heart if you let me

**Author's Note:**

> Happy one year of Mixtape album release here's some minchan
> 
> I wish I could tell you where the title is from but honestly I just took it from the song I was listening to whilst writing this and I have no idea what that song was (even after googling for like ages) If anybody knows; please, do tell
> 
> Thank u to dustee for beta-ing i tolerate u and stuff

_“Why_ are you not ready?”

Minho pauses his movements, a chip halfway to his lips, mouth hanging open a little. When he sees Chan, he blinks before taking the snack between his teeth.

“I am.” He responds calmly once he’s done chewing.

Something flickers in Chan’s eyes, as they narrow in on the boy. From the shoulders up, Minho looks all ready to murder some innocent soul. His make-up is perfected, eyes lined with thick liner and eyelids painted heavily, his lips a pretty shade of dark pink and his skin powdered to perfection. Even though his hair is yet to be styled, it’s gently falling into his eyes like he _intended_ for it to- though Chan knows better, and that’s actually what Minho’s hair looks like when he gets out of the shower and allows it to air-dry.

Beyond Minho’s shoulders is the cause of Chan’s outburst- because the dark-haired boy is dressed in a pair of grey sweats and Chan’s old black shirt that can barely be called a shirt with the amount of holes bordering its neckline. Nevertheless, Minho refuses to let go of it.

“You are _not._ Are you dressing like that?”

Minho sighs, like Chan is some Big Inconvenience before his eyes trail over his own outfit,

“Oh.” He says, as if he has just now realised the clothes that are hanging from his body, “I’ll change before we leave.”

“We’re leaving _now.”_

Minho sighs again,

“Chan baby, you need to chill a little.”

Chan rolls his eyes and flips up his middle finger,

“Can you go and get changed so we can leave? You’re giving me a headache and we’re not even at the club yet.”

Minho smirks, blows a kiss towards his roommate,

“That’s my job.” He sing-songs, before sauntering towards his room.

Less than three minutes later Minho emerges, his hair pushed back and parted to one side, a pair of insanely tight, ripped jeans hugging his legs and a leather jacket over a white shirt. Chan thinks it incredibly unfair that Minho probably put that outfit together in less than twenty seconds and it _still_ looks good on him.

“Come on.” Chan grumbles, grabbing his keys, “Let’s just go.”

Minho grins wide, aware (and incredibly pleased) with the insane amount of annoyance he just caused, before following the other out the door.

 

It’s ridiculous how it started really. Every morning Minho wakes to Chan singing something off the hot 100 charts (which is how Minho is aware of what the hot 100 even is), loud and way too cheery for a person awake at 7am, who probably got three to four hours of sleep. But Chan is always bright in the mornings, and Minho is always grumpy- yet it doesn’t stop him from lingering outside the kitchen for a minute or two so he can listen to Chan sing.

So when he wakes up to silence, Minho’s first thought is that Chan slept in and his alarm didn’t go off, till he remembers Chan doesn’t even _own_ an alarm, and he’s probably never used the alarm app on his phone in his life because he wakes up _naturally_ with the sun, every morning without fail. When Minho makes his way to the kitchen (after checking Chan’s room just in case anyway and finding it empty) he sees his house-mate slumped in a chair, eyes glaring daggers into his phone.

“Channie?” Minho says softly. Chan’s eyes flicker up towards the dark-haired boy standing in the doorway, who beams at gaining his attention. “What’s wrong?” Minho asks, settling in the chair opposite him.

Chan sighs, like there’s a terrible burden resting on his shoulders, before he finally mumbles out,

_“I have a crush.”_

So here they are, on a Wednesday night, heading towards _Miks_ where Kim Woojin works the night shift as a bartender.

Chan is jittery in the cab, fingers nervously tapping against the holes in his jeans, and twisting the rings on his fingers. Minho rolls his eyes and grabs at Chan’s hand; it’s cold and clammy against his own.

“Can you chill?”

“I’m scared.”

“Why? Just do as I say, you’ll be fine.”

 _“That_ is why I’m scared.”

Minho tuts, like Chan just said the most ridiculous sentence ever,

“Please, half our campus would _die_ to be in your shoes right now. I’m an expert at getting laid- _and_ getting others laid.”

“I don’t just want Woojin to fuck me!” Chan attempts a harsh whisper, but it’s obvious their driver has heard it, because he begins to speed a little. Minho cackles at the bright red forming in Chan’s cheeks,

“Channie, Channie, Channie,” He repeats like a mantra. Chan simply glares, “If you don’t want him to fuck you, what _do_ you want exactly?”

“I want him to kiss me and hold my hand and hold _me.”_ Chan sniffs, “Sex isn’t the only thing people look for in relationships, Minho.”

Minho looks genuinely puzzled for a minute before he straightens up and releases Chan’s hand from his grasp,

“Okay so you want to _woo_ him?”

“Yes- why are you laughing- _was that a fucking pun?”_

Minho’s grin breaks out into a full on laugh, clutching his sides at the appalled look on Chan’s face,

“Come on,” He gasps through his breathless laughter, eyes crinkling up to the point where he can barely see Chan and his disapproving glare anymore, “That was _funny.”_

“It wasn’t! You’re no help. Let’s turn around and just go home. Woojin will never be interested in me anyway.”

Minho seems to sober up suddenly, Chan’s tone bringing a discomfort to his bones, because he likes messing around but he absolutely does _not_ like to see Chan distraught and, worst of all- putting himself down.

“No, okay, Chris- listen to me,” Minho puts his hands on Chan’s shoulders, ignoring the cough that the driver gives them to let them know they’ve arrived, “You’re hot and sexy and charming Bang Chan, and Woojin would be a _fool_ to not fall for you, okay? You’re going to go in there and Woojin’s going to trip over his feet when he realises you’re interested, because _anybody_ would die to be your boyfriend. Okay? Okay. Let’s go.”

To Minho’s chagrin (or probably Chan’s) Woojin does _not_ trip over his feet- however _Chan_ does, almost plummeting face first against the hard floor, before Minho steadies him by the arm,

“Chill. What is it?”

“Woojin’s there.”

Minho groans, pulling Chan fully upright with a tug to his elbow,

 _“Yes_ he’s here- that’s literally the whole reason why _we_ are here.”

“Right. Yes. Of course. He’s supposed to be here.”

Minho rolls his eyes as he steers Chan towards the bar. They’re greeted by a pretty girl with blue lipstick, who smiles at them before asking what they need,

“I’ll get a regular martini.” Minho pauses, contemplating, “Dry.” He adds, before turning to his friend, “Chan?” He prompts.

Chan has a look on his face that indicates he is paying zero attention to the situation- which is proven by his response,

“Yeah sure,” he says distractedly, to which Minho rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother asking again,

“Make that two of those,” He tells the girl. When she walks off, Minho pulls Chan onto the stool next to him, shaking him a little,

“Wh-” Chan starts but Minho cuts him off,

“Can you stop zoning out? We’re gonna get you Woojin’s attention but you _need_ to stay focussed.”

Chan pouts,

“But Minnie- he’s so _pretty.”_

“I _know,_ I have eyes, but please, nobody ever scored a date by drooling.”

Chan slams his jaw shut,

“I am _not-”_

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because their drinks arrive and Minho is insistent on the idea that Chan gets some alcohol into his system as soon as possible. Once the buzz has settled in, Chan’s cheeks go a little red and his eyes begin to glitter brighter than ever, that cheeky smirk that Minho knows far too well coming out to play. Minho can’t help but coo at Chan’s shitty tolerance level,

“How are you feeling?” Minho asks once Chan has downed his third drink,

“Like dancing.”

Minho would never say no to dancing, so he drags Chan towards the dance floor (ensuring Woojin has at least _noticed_ Chan) before moving his body to the beat, whistling when Chan follows,

“Move your hips Chan baby- that’s it!”

Chan seems to glow under the praise and encouragement, thrusting his hips as Minho cheers him on,

“You’re doing great,” Minho whispers against the shell of Chan’s ear, “And he’s definitely watching. Now go get him,”

Chan stumbles a little, his hand falling to Minho’s waist as he frowns slightly,

“Who’s watching?”

“Woojin,” Minho begins slowly, “Kim Woojin. The man you’re crushing on.”

“Oh,” Realisation lights up on Chan’s features as he nods, “Right, Woojin.”

“Go get him tiger,” Minho incites, pushing Chan back towards the bar. He smirks, watches as the other takes careful steps towards where Woojin is standing behind the bar, mixing a drink. Chan seems to be nervous, if his hunched shoulders are anything to go by, but once he approaches the bar and sits on a stool, he straightens his posture and trails a finger over the countertop. Within three minutes he’s made Woojin laugh, and Minho decides that’s good enough, before he turns around and grinds against the girl who’s been trying to get his attention ever since Chan left him.

 

\--

Minho groans. There’s way too much light, his throat feels like it’s been sucked dry by a vacuum and there’s a slight, minimal pain in his thighs. He groans once more, though it comes out as more of a whine, considering the current condition of his throat.

There’s someone that smells of something sweet lying next to him, and when he gains the ability to crack open a single eye, he sees long, brown hair, streaked blue, and soft, pink cheeks.

God. He doesn’t even remember her name.

To Minho’s (utter unfortunate) luck the girl wakes just as he does, her eyes flickering open gently, though barely adjusting to the sunlight, just as Minho’s hadn’t- snapping them shut once she realises there’s no more darkness.

“Good morning,” She giggles, the sound fluttering in Minho’s chest. He rolls his eyes, pinches his own hip as if to say _none of that you dumbass._

“Morning.” He rasps. He rises from where he’s lying, wondering what the hell to do. Typically he wakes up before his one-night stand does and when he emerges from the shower they’ve usually quietly gathered their things and left- especially after seeing the way Minho drapes himself over Chan’s shoulders every morning. Chan.

Minho sits bolt upright, eyes widening at the thought of his roommate.

“Wait here,” He tells the girl, before rushing out of the room. Minho is barely aware of the fact that he’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and his neck is lined with hickeys, rather he rushes straight to the kitchen, relieved when he sees Chan humming to himself and fixing breakfast.

“Minnie!” Chan says, bright and gleeful like he does every morning. Minho feels his lips quirk upwards on instinct,

“Channie,” He says softly, “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Chan nods like an excited puppy on a leash and Minho has to stop himself from cooing,

“Good. How did last night go?”

Chan furrows his eyebrows, but then realisation sets in and Minho honestly expects a blush, a lip-bite- something that screams bashful and shy and _Chan-_ but instead his smile turns into something wide and bright, like the smile of a child on Christmas morning.

“I got Woojin’s number. We talked for _hours_ Minnie, it was magical. He has a beautiful voice, did you know? And he studies fucking _criminal justice.”_

Minho chokes out a laugh, because he honestly was _not_ expecting that, but it seems to make sense. Woojin is sweet and kind, but he’s also a tough cookie, and Minho can totally see him in that field.

“That’s good. So you just talked? No kisses?”

Chan shrugs,

“We should take it slow.” Is all he says before gesturing towards a pile of pancakes on the counter, “Those are for- oh? Hi there.” Minho is confused as Chan aims his words over his shoulder before he suddenly remembers that, yes; he’d left a girl in his bed just to ask his roommate about his fucking _crush._ “What’s your name?” Chan asks, ever the polite one.

“Chungha.” The girl smiles, bowing her head slightly. She’s fully dressed now, in the shorts and tank top she was wearing last night, and she looks like she’s washed up a little, brushed her hair back. Her cheeks still hold a soft pink glow.

“I’m Chan.” Chan beams like it’s not completely weird to introduce yourself to your best friend’s one night stand. Chungha flashes him another shy smile, and Minho feels bad that her name doesn’t even flick a switch in his mind. Had _he_ even asked for her name last night? Does she know his? God, he has to work on his chivalry. It seems she does know his name though, as she nods towards him and says,

“It was nice meeting you Minho, but I need to get going.”

Minho nods in understanding, not wanting to drag the interaction out any longer, but Chan makes a noise of disapproval before she can leave,

“You’re going to go out like that?” He asks, gesturing to her bare legs, “But it’s cold. You’ll get cold.”

Chungha laughs, and it makes Minho think of bells,

“I’ll be fine, my apartment’s not far-”

“No I don’t think I can let you leave like that, here follow me.” Chan’s tone screams finality, so Chungha follows him down the hallway and into his room. Minho rolls his eyes. Chan has always been _way_ too bountiful.  Ever since they were young teens, it was always Chan picking up kids who had fallen in the school field, and cheering for the shy ones on stage during plays and assemblies. It’s like Chan has a sixth sense of some sort, that nags at him when someone in his proximity is feeling even the slightest bit of discomfort- he must go and assist like it’s his personal job.

Minho has always been the opposite. It’s not like he has zero benevolence, but he _does_ have the slightest tendency to be ridiculously selfish at times. It’s worked out well for him- there’s no way he’d be majoring in dance if he had taken the route his parents wanted him to (medicine), but he realises he could have been a _little_ less insolent about it. Sometimes he thinks about how they only wanted the best for him, how they pay for his rent and give him a monthly allowance since he quit his last job, yet he doesn’t spare a minute to talk to either of them- still salty about them almost forcing him to study something he didn’t want to. Deep down, he knows there was a better way of handling the whole situation, and if Chan was in his shoes he’d have _definitely_ handled it the right way- but Minho _isn’t_ Chan, he will most likely never be as perfect as Chan is, and maybe that’s his downfall, maybe it isn’t- he isn’t sure if he’ll ever figure that bit out.

Chungha emerges from Chan’s room in a pair of his blue sweats, looking significantly warmer and more comfortable. She smiles awkwardly at Minho, like she knows those are his favourite sweats and he wears them more than Chan ever has- but he returns the smile, equally awkward.

“There,” Chan smiles, “Now you won’t die from frostbite.”

Chungha giggles, obviously enamoured by Chan’s charm, and Minho rolls his eyes before she ends up in Chan’s bed instead of back in his,

“Okay well it was lovely meeting you.” He begins, ignoring the daggers Chan shoots him as he does so,

“Yes yes,” Chungha agrees. She waves them both goodbye and then the door is slammed shut.

“That was rude.” Chan tells him. Minho shrugs, tearing a pancake in half from the plate in front of him,

“I’m hungry.” He says in defence, and Chan just laughs before joining him at the table.

 

The next time they see Woojin he isn’t in his smart bartender uniform- no, he isn’t wearing much at all, to which Chan almost trips over his own feet (once again.)

“Do you see those fucking _arms?”_ Chan pants, struggling to keep up with Minho. Minho calmly jogs next to him, barely fazed by the four miles they’ve run so far. He shouldn’t be, considering this is something he does every morning without fail.

“I see them.” Minho says.

Woojin is sitting under a tree, happily playing with two puppies, throwing them tennis balls then patting their heads when they bring them back to him.

“God I’m going to die- I don’t know what’s cuter, him or the puppies.”

“Definitely him. Cats are cuter than dogs.” Minho pipes up, to which he almost gets shoved off the path by an irritated looking Chan.

 _“Not_ the point.” Chan says, though his eyes are still trained on Woojin and the damn dogs.

“Go talk to him,” Minho suggests, slowing down. He stops, places both hands on his knees and inhales deeply, thrice, before standing upright. The only remnant of him running for the past forty minutes is the light redness in his cheeks. Chan huffs. This is unfair.

“What will I even say?”

“I don’t know. Anything. Cute dogs. Let me suck your dick.”

“Minho!” Chan splutters, eyes wide like the word dick is an abomination, and Minho supposes it should be in a public park, except nobody is really around, and if people are going to start freaking out over the word _dick_ then they should probably get out more. “I’m not saying that.”

Minho shrugs,

“Your loss.” He says, leaning down to tie his shoelaces. Chan slaps him on the ass, and Minho doubles over in laughter. “Don’t touch what you can’t afford, Channie.” He teases.

Chan ignores him,

“I’m going to speak to him. Don’t follow me.”

Minho grins proudly- but because he’s also a little shit and can’t follow instructions to save his life, he joins them two minutes into the conversation. Chan is shooting him daggers once more, from where he sits on the grass next to Woojin, but Minho is so often on the receiving end of those they don’t deter him anymore,

“Hey hyung,” Minho says, plopping himself opposite said boy. Woojin grins, his light brown hair flopping into his eyes. The morning sun is making his eyes glimmer more than usual, despite the shade of the tree, and Minho can see why Chan is so far gone for this boy,

“Hi,” Woojin nods.

“You two… know each other?” Chan says slowly. Minho grins.

“We used to work together at that café place before I quit.”

Chan nods slowly, but the way his eyes are narrowing and his chin is jutting out shows Minho this is definitely a topic they’re going to discuss later.

“You guys live together right?”

Minho nods, happy that Woojin still remembers tiny details,

“Have for the last three years.”

Woojin whistles lowly,

“You must be close,”

Minho cocks his head a little, smiles softly,

“Oh, we are.”

 

\---

“I thought you were trying to help me!”

Minho freezes, eyes narrowing. Chan’s cheeks are red from his sudden outburst, but he’s closed his eyes so Minho can’t see the rage building behind them, despite the fact that’s all he’s been seeing ever since they got home.

Chan had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the remainder of their time with Woojin, and he’d barely spoken a word even on the walk home. When Minho had attempted to get to the root of the problem, once they got home, Chan had burst, like a dam with too much built up water.

“What are you talking about?”

“You were supposed to _help_ me win Woojin over not fucking flirt with him yourself!”

Minho’s face contorts into one of pure confusion,

“What the hell are you talking about?” He says, trying his best to keep his voice steady. Chan rolls his eyes,

 _“Don’t_ act like you don’t know.”

“I don’t!”

“Then how about this? The way you were blinking at him, all playfully and annoying, like you were just going to fucking kiss him any second! God, Minho, I knew you were obsessed with people falling for your charm, but I didn’t think you were this much of a little slut.”

Minho’s jaw drops a little.

“What the fuck.” Is all he manages to grit out. Chan’s brain seems to catch up with the words that just left his mouth, as his eyes dart all over the room, uncomfortable and scared,

“I didn’t mean that.” He says quietly.

“You still said it.” Minho shoots back. His voice is calm, steady, like they’re having a casual conversation, and this only scares Chan more. He hates an angry Minho because Minho never _shows_ his anger. He always keeps his tone eerily light, like there’s nothing wrong, despite the way his jaw locks and the gradual fire builds up in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck off Bang Chan.” Is all Minho says, before he turns on his heel and goes straight to his room. Chan watches in silence before he whimpers and falls against the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, barely catching the first tear that drips from his eyes.  

\---

“Is anyone sitting here- _shit.”_

Minho drags his gaze up from the psychology text book he’d been paying zero attention to, to find the source of the voice, mentally cursing the universe and its entire existence when he sees who it is- then his eyes droop a little and he rests his head on top of his notebook. His life is currently shitty enough anyway, may as well see how much shitter it can get. Minho feels like life, space and fate are conducting an experiment on how much they can make a person hate their own existence, and he thinks they’re doing a pretty good job at their little investigation. Too bad he’s the guinea pig.

“No,” He sighs.

Chungha is still as pretty as the first night Minho saw her, cheeks flushed and pretty eyes glittering as she looks at him. She gives him a sympathetic glance before taking the seat next to him,

“You look like you could use a cheer up,” She says. Minho sighs. Her voice is still so pretty. And she’s so fucking _nice._

_Take some notes Bang Chan._

“I guess,” He says, barely masking the pain that seeps into his voice.

Chungha rummages through her bag before pulling out two lollipops. Minho raises an eyebrow,

“I was expecting alcohol.” He admits.

“Don’t be silly. You can’t get wasted before a lecture, how will you concentrate?”

_And she’s fucking sensible._

“I guess.” Minho takes the sweet from her, allowing her to unwrap it when his own clumsy fingers fumble and fail. She pushes it past his lips into his mouth and he manages to smile around it,

“This tastes good,” He says after a short silence. Chungha smiles brightly around her own candy,

“Right? It’s my favourite flavour.”

“I guess it’s mine now too,” He winks. God, does he ever shut up. Maybe Chan’s right. Maybe he really is a-

“Are you still doing that?”

Minho startles at her displeasing tone,

“Doing what?”

“Flirting with other people when you have a boyfriend.” She shakes her fringe out of her eyes, “I still can’t believe he was okay with you sleeping with me. I don’t mean to pry, but do you have an open relationship? Or were you just trying to make him jealous? Because I don’t appreciate being dragged into other people’s drama.”

Minho slowly lifts his head from where it’s been resting on his desk, mind spinning. Boyfriend? Who is she talking about? Minho does _not-_

“Please don’t tell me you’re talking about Chan.”

Chungha frowns,

“Is that his name? I don’t think I was given it. The boy who gave me his blue sweats- which I still need to return by the way- would it be weird for me to drop by and just give them back?”

“Can you slow down, Jesus, you’re worse than Jisung.” Minho rubs the pads of his fingers against his temples, exhaling deeply, “First of all,” He cuts in when Chungha looks like she’s about to start speaking again, “Chan is not my boyfriend. Hell, he’s not even my fucking _friend_ right now. He just lives with me. I’m single, I’ve slept with six people in the last thirteen days and I only remember two of their names- I could never be in a committed relationship with that kind of shitty fidelity level.”

Chungha stares at him.

“You’re not together?”

“No.”

“Not at all?”

“No.”

“And no history?”

“No.”

“Even though he was the first person on your mind when you woke up, _despite having someone else in your bed?”_

“…no. I mean yes. Shut up.”

Chungha gives him a look that reminds Minho of the one his mother used to give him as a child after he’d profusely explained why it was his sister who had taken the last cookie and not him, despite having crumbs spilling down his school shirt. He does what he used to do back then too. He outstares her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” She sighs, “I just think you’re ridiculously oblivious and-”

Chungha finds herself cut off by the professor walking into the room, and she narrows her eyes at Minho when he snickers,

“We _will_ continue this conversation.” She hisses, before the class starts.

 

It seems that Chungha refuses to back down on her word because even though Minho tells her he’s meeting up with Jisung for lunch, she insists on coming with him as he ‘isn’t getting away that easily.’ (Also, “You keep comparing me to this Jisung kid; it’s only fair I get to meet him.”)

Minho walks into the cafeteria to find Jisung halfway through a heavy make-out session with his boyfriend. He sighs. He can’t go _anywhere_ without people shoving their relationships into his face. Chungha looks at him warily,

“Is that Jisung?”

Minho nods,

“Who’s that with him?”

“Changbin.” Minho says, full of shame, like that’s his rebellious son with his equally rebellious significant other. He supposes the analogy isn’t far off.

“Hey Sungie,” Minho snaps his fingers in front of the couple who pull back quickly. Jisung’s face is flushed with ignominy, whilst Changbin looks on with a shit-eating grin.

“Hey,” Changbin replies. Jisung’s face drops,

“Shit, we were meant to have lunch together weren’t we?”

Minho nods. Changbin smirks.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to steal him from you.”

“Jisung, I know I ask you this every day but can I hit him?”

Jisung rolls his eyes, accustomed to the usual banter between his best friend and boyfriend. It used to worry him at first, but now he knows they’re both just plain annoying and live to get on each other’s nerves- yet would undoubtedly take a bullet for one another. It’s a complicated relationship, one that Jisung doesn’t question often or else he knows he’ll end up confused,

“You can’t.” He says in response to Minho. The raven-haired boy sighs and flops into the chair opposite him.

“I have somewhere to be,” Changbin says rising from his seat. He crooks two of his fingers under Jisung’s chin and kisses him slow and deep before standing upright, “I’ll see you later, babe.”

Jisung flushes as he waves goodbye.

“Great, now that _abomination_ is out of the way.”

Jisung sticks his tongue out,

“That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about.”

Minho nods.

“I know he’s-”

Chungha cuts him off with a cough, and Minho feels bad for momentarily forgetting that she was present,

“Oh right, Sungie, this is Chungha. She’s uh- a friend.”

“And I’ll be joining you for lunch.” Chungha says sitting opposite to Jisung. Jisung looks at her wide-eyed,

“Minho hyung, you’re not dating Chungha-ssi are you?”

“No?”

Chungha throws her head back in laughter,

“I don’t think his boyfriend would be very happy.”

Jisung’s eyes grow impossibly wider,

“His _boyfriend?”_

“For the last time, Chan is _not_ my boyfriend.”

Minho’s outburst is cut off by Jisung tipping his head back, a ridiculously loud laugh escaping his throat as he does so.

“Oh fucking _finally,”_ He gasps when he manages to calm down a little, _“Finally.”_

“What does that even mean?” Minho frowns,

“Just the fact that you and Chan have been crushing on one another for ages so just the mere fact that somebody _else_ can see it is just- wow I love this song.”

“What? Shut the fuck up.”

Chungha giggles, bringing a hand to her mouth as she does so,

“I’m sorry how long have these two airheads been skirting around each other?”

“Eight _years,”_ Jisung says. Chungha gasps,

_“Years?”_

“Yes!”

“Wait wait wait-” Minho quickly cuts in. What the fuck are they even talking about? _Him_ crushing on _Chan? Bang Chan?_ His best friend? The boy who’s stuck by his side ever since he entered middle school as a timid ten year old, with no sense of life or direction? The kid who stuck a pencil crayon up his left nostril when they were twelve and was blowing pink into tissues for four days straight? The same Bang Chan who tears up during romance movies and laughs at horror films? The one who reads books like his life depends on it, scrunching up his nose at the funny parts and biting his lips when he reaches the climax? The same Bang Chan who greets Minho’s one night stands in the morning because Minho is too awkward to do so, and even offers them breakfast so they don’t leave feeling out of place or uncomfortable? No. That can’t be it.

Jisung seems to notice the turmoil going on inside Minho’s head because his voice drops to something soft and patient, and all laughter ceases,

“Hyung,” He begins, “You can’t really have not noticed this right?”

Minho gives him a bewildered look,

“I don’t- I- _what?”_

Chungha has stopped giggling next to him as well, now pointing him with a sympathetic look. She pats his shoulder gently before standing up,

“I have another class to get to,” She says, “But I hope everything works out for you- both.”

Minho stares after her, like her disappearance will also cause the disappearance of his problems. It doesn’t. The noise in his head only gets louder.

“Chan doesn’t like me,” Minho says finally, “He thinks I’m a slut.”

Jisung splutters,

_“Why the fuck would he-”_

“He told me himself,” Minho continues calmly, “He thought I was flirting with Woojin- _fucking Woojin-_ and then told me I’m a slut,” He pauses to shrug, like he couldn’t care less, despite the tears pricking behind his eyes and building up in his throat. God, it hurts to say it out loud.

Jisung is looking at him carefully, biting his lip, before he reaches out to squeeze Minho’s hand between both of his own,

“Hyung, when did this happen?”

“Five days ago.”

“And you haven’t spoken to him since?”

Minho shakes his head. The tears are threatening to fall again, they’re right on the edge now, and he’s scared to use his voice in fear of provoking them.

“Hyung,” Jisung says, voice as delicate as a needle-point, “You need to speak to him.”

“I don’t want to.” Minho snaps, “I don’t want anything to do with someone who thinks I’m a _slut.”_

Jisung winces once more at the use of language and Minho _gets it._ Because before Changbin, he and Jisung were in the same boat, a new lay every two nights, content with spaces filling up the other side of their beds rather than their hearts. Jisung was just as unbothered about commitment as Minho himself, until Changbin walked into his life, but he _knows,_ he _understands,_ the things people say behind their backs only to jump into their beds as soon as they’re shown even the slightest interest. And sure, they acted like they don’t care- in fact Minho still _acts-_ but that’s all it will ever be. Acting. Because words hurt, words are sharp, and they dig deep, not like the stabbing of knives, no, more like needles, they prick under his skin and in his worst moments they come alive. So for someone so close to him to say such a thing, when he’s spent his whole life trying to convince himself that _words are just words-_ man, it fucking stings. And the way Jisung is looking at him right now, with pity in his eyes and worry on his lips, it makes Minho want to burst into tears because he must have done something _really fucking stupid_ to make Chan call him the one thing that he spent years trying to stop other people from labelling him as.

“You need to talk to him,” Jisung repeats, like it’s the only solution, hell maybe it is, Minho doesn’t know, he just wants shit _fixed._

“I don’t want to,” He says again, more adamantly this time. Jisung pierces him with a scrutinising gaze, and Minho feels very, very small. “Not until he apologises,” He tags on lamely, “I’ll talk to him if he apologises.”

 

\--

To Minho’s surprise, the apology comes a lot quicker than expected.

It’s the next morning and Minho still doesn’t know what’s in the top 100 but he hasn’t known for almost a week now. He convinces himself it doesn’t bother him.

(It does.)

“Minnie?” A voice says, soft and scared, the way a stray cat looks at restaurant owners who offer them food. Like they’re so used to advantages being ripped away, it’s safer to keep a guard up. Minho sighs into his mug of coffee. He has a lecture to get to. He doesn’t have time for this.

“What?”

It’s snappy and rude and _not_ what Minho meant at all, it makes Chan flinch, like he’s been whipped with something sharp. Minho sighs.

“What is it Chan?” He tries again. It doesn’t sound much better.

Chan looks everywhere but Minho’s face, and it’s starting to irritate him, but he’s also secretly glad because if Chan stares him directly in the eye then he might do something crazy.

(Like kiss him.)

“I’m-” Chan starts softly like the world is against him and words are the most difficult thing to push past his lips, “I’m sorry for- for calling you… that…. thing. It was wrong of me and I shouldn’t have and I know-”

“Did you mean it?” Minho’s voice is soft, fragile and delicate, and he’s surprised he manages to get the question out, but now it’s there and apparent in the open for Chan to either take and answer or ignore completely. Minho realises all along, that this is really the only question he needed an answer to. He didn’t want an apology- not really- he just wanted to know _why_ Chan said it. “Do you really think I’m a slut?” He clarifies.

“No!” Chan’s quick answer ignites something optimistic in Minho’s chest, but he pushes it down in hopes it’ll fade, “I _don’t_ think you’re a slut, Minnie, I just,” He pauses and closes his eyes, exhales deeply for a minute, “I was just jealous. And I was trying to get under your skin.”

The room is silent, there’s nothing that could possibly be making any noise, but Minho feels like there’s a rush of _something_ in his ears, like the roaring of a strong wind or possibly a tornado, because suddenly nothing makes any sense at all and it would be easier to blame it on a passing hurricane.

 _Chan? Bang Chan?_ Jealous of _Minho?_

“Jealous?” Minho finally pushes out, “Of me?”

“It’s stupid,” Chan sniffles, and Minho only just registers that there’s tears building in the elder’s eyes, “It’s really stupid.”

“Tell me.” Minho says, finality in his tone.

“I’m jealous because you get fucking _everything._ I’m jealous because you pull people in with your charm with zero effort just because of your fucking _face_ and _smile_ and _words,_ and it’s just so not fair that you can have anybody you want- anyone in this whole damn world- yet you just leave this whole trail of broken hearts behind you.”

Chan pauses, and he’s gasping for breath but Minho is in too much shock to do anything about it so Chan continues, like Minho isn’t even there and rather he’s just trying to get a ridiculous burden off his chest,

“And I finally _finally,_ thought that someone was interested in me and then I thought you were trying to take them _away,_ and it’s just so stupid because I shouldn’t be jealous of you Minho, you’re my best fucking friend but why do I always feel like I’m just a shadow and you’re this- this huge- _lustre.”_

Chan sniffs and wipes at his eyes with the back of his sleeve. He finally drags his gaze up to Minho, who’s still staring at him in shock,

“That’s… really what you think?” He licks his lips, words still dripping in disbelief, “You think that people don’t stare at you everywhere we go, that you could have anyone you wanted?”

It’s Chan who’s staring now.

“What are you even talking about?”

Minho shakes his head,

“You really think you’re somehow – inferior to me?”

Chan looks down at his feet, a shameful expression on his face. He seems exhausted after his outburst, eyes drooping and cheeks paler than usual. He’s no longer gripping his palms into fists, rather they’re hanging by his side, feeble and defeated. He sighs.

“I don’t think it,” He says quietly, “I know it.”

“Oh Chan baby…”

Minho catches him in his arms before he gets a chance to collapse to the floor, but Chan is shaking in his hold, the tears flowing freely and soaking Minho’s shirt, though he couldn’t care less at this point.

“We’re going to talk about this,” He whispers gently. Chan sniffles, takes a gaping breath before bursting into a fresh set of tears. Minho holds him tighter, one hand supporting the Chan’s waist, another combing through his hair, “But first, you’re going to let it all out.”

 

It’s several hours later, and Chan is stirring from the light nap he’d fallen into after crying his heart out. Minho had deemed it too late to bother with his lecture so he’d manoeuvred Chan to the couch, his head in Minho’s lap, where he had eventually fallen asleep.

“I’m sorry,” Chan mumbles into Minho’s stomach.

Minho jolts, unaware that Chan was fully conscious,

“Don’t be,” He sighs, threading a hand through the blond’s hair,

“But I am,” Chan insists, “I really am.” He pauses, “You should hate me.”

“But I don’t, so don’t try and make me.” Minho smiles and it gently prods Chan into a little grin too.

“Woojin was supposed to come over this afternoon,” Chan says after a short silence, “I planned to ask him out and kiss him or something.” He sighs, “Now I just look ugly and swollen.”

“Chan,” Minho says sternly, “We have a lot to work on- but the first thing we’re going to agree on, is that you’re not putting yourself down anymore. You’re beautiful. Woojin’s a lucky guy.”

Chan blinks, wide eyes staring innocently, and Minho suddenly feels like _he’s_ the older one,

“Do you promise?” Chan asks softly, and Minho’s heart breaks at his tone- the tone of a naïve child who’s been told too many lies, is used to being deceived through false hopes, yet a small spark keeps the faith alive inside of him. Chan really believes he isn’t worth anything and Minho wants to fucking _sob,_ because Chan is the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen in his whole damn _life._ And no matter who sleeps in his bed on any given night, Minho realises, his heart will always lay with Chan’s, just a single door away. It’s Chan, it always has been- and he hates to admit it- but it probably always will be.

Minho sighs, looks down at him and gently brushes the fringe out of Chan’s eyes,

“I promise.”

 

Woojin has never been a latecomer, always punctual and perfect. He arrives at 1pm on the dot, and Minho lets him in before letting himself out. He’d promised Chan complete privacy, as long as he took a shower and dressed in something decent ( _“You won’t get a boyfriend in sweats, Channie”_ )

So Minho finds himself aimlessly wandering the streets, before he ends up outside the library. He eyes the double doors like they’re going to come alive any second before he’s nudged in the back,

“Are you that foreign to the idea of books?”

He turns slowly and- of course, Chungha is behind him, grinning brightly. Next to her stands a shorter boy with a splatter of freckles defining his cheeks and it makes Minho think of something akin to a constellation of stars.

“No,” He mutters, “God, why are you _everywhere,”_

The freckled boy snickers, running a hand through his orange hair as he clearly checks Minho out,

“Chungha has a habit of being in all the wrong places at all the right times.”

Chungha rolls her eyes,

“You make no sense, Felix. So Minnie, are you going in?”

The nickname pokes something sharp in the pit of Minho’s stomach and he knows _exactly_ what it is but he’s going to pretend he doesn’t because life is easier when you’re living in ignorance.

“Yeah, I’m going in.” He pauses, looking Felix up and down just like the other boy had previously done to him, “If he is.”

Chungha groans and rolls her eyes, then places the palms of both her hands onto Minho’s back, effectively pushing him in the direction of the library’s entrance,

“You really flirt with everything that has a heartbeat don’t you?”

“That would explain why I’ve never fucked a vampire.”

_“Minho.”_

Felix is still giggling at the vampire joke by the time they reach a vacant table and Minho finds something beautiful within the freckled boy’s tinkly laugh.

“Oh my god you have a boyfriend _stop looking at him like that,”_

Minho throws his head back in laughter at the scandalised look on the other boy’s face,

“Chan isn’t my boyfriend, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,”

Chungha rolls her eyes,

“I was talking about Felix, you fucker. But you too.”

Felix’s eyes widen,

“I’m just trying to read his shirt!”

Minho looks down and finds some random Korean phrase scribbled over his black shirt that he had probably read once in his life and never paid attention to it after that. He squints.

“I thought you were checking me out.”

Felix smirks,

“Well that too-”

“Seungmin will kick your _ass_ Felix Lee.”

Felix laughs, kicking his legs out like a toddler,

“I’m joking, Min is the love of my life I would _never.”_

Chungha humphs,

 _“Good._ Now study.”

Chungha and Felix have been studying for twenty minutes whilst Minho browses books when the latter receives a phone call that earns the three of them glares from every other person in the library. Minho grimaces, mouthing a _sorry_ before answering the call.

It’s Chan.

“Cha-” Is all he manages to say before the other is rushing out,

“Please come home, Minho. Please.”

He sounds like he’s on the verge of tears and Minho quickly rushes out an _okay,_ promising the other boy he’ll be there in under five minutes before ending the call.

“I need to go,” He tells Chungha and Felix as he pulls on his jacket. Chungha winks at him.

“Of course. For your man.”

“He’s _not_ my- you know what, forget it.” He nods to Felix, “It was nice meeting you,” Before rushing out.

 

Minho opens the apartment door to find Chan curled up in the corner of the couch, knees tucked under his chin, face blank. To Minho’s surprise his eyes are empty- of everything; tears, emotion- they’re hallow, and Minho is _scared_ because Chan’s eyes always hold so much, they glitter when he’s happy or excited, and they shine when he’s sad, even when he’s feeling neutral they’re still twinkling softly. Seeing them full of nothingness makes Minho feel like he should plan a funeral for them, and then himself- because what’s the point in living if the light in Chan’s eyes is dead?

“Channie…” He begins gently, careful not to startle the other boy. Chan barely blinks. “Chan baby, what happened?”

Finally Chan looks up, when Minho sits opposite him on the couch, one foot under himself, one foot dangling to the floor, a look of concern written all over his features,

“I don’t get it,” Chan mutters softly, “I really don’t.”

“What is it?”

Chan sighs and takes a deep breath, eyes boring into Minho’s as he does so,

“Woojin has a boyfriend.”

Minho’s jaw drops,

“But- he- _what?”_

“Yeah,” Chan chuckles but it’s a dry laugh, empty of mirth, and rather filled with spite, “He thought I was just being _nice_ this whole time. He was really surprised when I asked him to date me, all shocked and _aren’t you dating Minho,_ like why the fuck would you date me?”

Minho should listen to the rest of Chan’s sad rant, really, he should, but his mind is stuck on the one part where Woojin thought _he_ was Chan’s boyfriend- because damn, has he really been that obvious this whole time?

“Minho?” Chan says his name with a tone as delicate as white violet, and it catches Minho’s attention immediately,

“Yeah?”

“Do you like me?”

Minho pauses, biting on the inside of his cheek, and Chan’s bottom lip begins to tremble because what if Woojin had been _wrong?_

When he walked in a few hours previous, Chan had been so sure and so certain of himself- he _liked_ Woojin, he was _over_ Minho, yet as soon as Woojin sat down and Chan immediately blurted out a _will you date me_ Woojin had looked at him with complete shock on his face, and all he’d managed to say was _aren’t you and Minho like- a thing?_

So Chan had breathed deep and put his lips into this big fake smile, coercing a _what are you even talking about?_ But Woojin is _smart_ and _sensible-_ everything Chan _isn’t-_ So he’d shook his head, a fond smile on his lips as he’d said,

“Tell me really, Chan. Are you sure it’s me that you’re crushing on?”

And Chan had fucking _hated_ that question, because _no,_ he _didn’t_ like Woojin- Woojin was sweet and generous and kind, he was handsome, with a nice laugh and pretty eyes but god- he wasn’t _Minho_ sweet or _Minho_ handsome or _Minho_ kind, and nobody except Minho ever _would be._

And Chan knew, he’d known for a long time that the only reason he’d told Minho he had a crush was because this was one of the things Minho was best at- using his charm to score dates, and maybe Minho started paying more attention to him ever since he’d spilled about his maybe-crush on Woojin. He’d started taking him to bars, he’d asked for Chan to join him on his morning runs, and it felt _good_ to constantly be in Minho’s company, until Chan had gotten _jealous_ that Minho was openly flirting with Woojin- and maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t, but it had spiralled things out of control, down a hole Chan never planned on digging in the first place, but he’d fallen and lost control of his way down, and it looked like Minho was happily waving from the entrance so Chan had done the one thing he could think of- drag Woojin down with him, _hoping_ he’d make Minho jealous, except it had just backfired when he found out Woojin was in a fucking _relationship._

“I don’t think I’m the person you should be having this conversation with Channie,” Woojin had smiled kindly at him, but there was a hint of pity in there somewhere and Chan _hated_ it.

But for once he’d taken someone else’s advice and asked Minho to come home, except now he was _here_ and Chan didn’t know what the _fuck_ to say so he’d just straight up asked the worst question he could have possibly started with.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Minho had laughed hesitantly, though it ceased upon seeing the expression on Chan’s face,

“Do you _like_ like me? Would you date me, Minnie?” Chan’s voice is small and it makes Minho think of the fact that he’s never heard his best friend sound so _tiny_ and so _lost_ before,

“What brought this on? Don’t you like Woojin?”

“No!” Chan is _frustrated. How can Minho be this dense?_ “I like you! It’s you; it’s always been fucking _you!_ When you bring all those people home and put them in your fucking bed I’ve always wished it was _me._ And you’re so damn _oblivious-”_

 _“I’m_ oblivious? Are you kidding?” Minho cuts Chan off with a spiteful laugh, jerking back like he’s just been burnt by something intense “I’ve been pining after you this _whole damn time_ hoping that you’ll eventually grow jealous of the ridiculous amount of people I bring home but you’ve been out here greeting them and making them _breakfast,_ like the very idea of them brings you _joy._ Don’t you dare think _you_ have the audacity to call _me_ oblivious when everything’s been _right_ under your nose this _whole_ time.”

Chan blinks. There are tears in his eyes, but they don’t fall. When he blinks again, they’re gone. Then slowly, ever so gradually, the corners of his lips quirk upwards, before he’s suddenly giggling.

The sound blooms something beautiful in Minho’s chest, and it’s contagious, making Minho let out a small, slightly startled laugh,

“What?” He says, still smiling. Chan shakes his head, tiny titters still falling from his lips,

“We’re both stupid.”

“I guess.” Minho shrugs, “Maybe we’re both attracted to people who have half a brain cell?”

Chan snorts, hands reaching out for Minho’s, who grasps them easily, entwining their fingers together as he’s dragged closer,

“If we dated, would that give us one shared brain cell?”

Minho tilts his head a little to the left, like he’s contemplating something huge, and it reminds Chan of a puppy,

“I guess,”

“Then do you think…”

“...In the best interest of our intellect…”

“…We should date?”

Minho isn’t sure who moves first, but Chan’s hair is feathery against his fingertips, Chan’s hand is warm against his waist, and Chan’s lips are soft against his own, skilled and slow. They kiss like time is on their side, like the world will never end, like the earth will never overheat and the stars will never fall.

They kiss like there’s an eternity, and they’re the only ones living in it.

 

“Halsey?”

Chan pauses his humming to turn in Minho’s arms, grinning when the taller boy presses a soft kiss to his head. He nods excitedly,

“You should check out her latest song.”

Minho hums, pressing his face into Chan’s neck, placing a stray kiss against the supple skin there,

“I’d rather hear you singing it,” He mumbles, eyes closed, voice still laced with sleep. Chan giggles, and Minho knows if his face wasn’t pushed into Chan’s nape right now, he’d be able to see the blush decorating the elder’s cheeks.

“Shut up,”

Minho responds by wrapping his arms tighter around Chan’s waist, and sleepily nuzzling his nose against his,

“Make me.”

The kiss is deep, passionate and slow, until Minho nips at Chan’s lower lip, smirking when the other hisses,

“Please,” Chan breathes, “I’ll be limping all day from last night, and now I won’t be able to talk either.”

Minho throws his head back in laughter, the column of his neck revealing the hickeys placed all over it,

“Babe, don’t act like you hate it.”

Chan rolls his eyes, and only pokes at one of the love bites in response, reminding the other to cover them with makeup before they leave for lunch with Woojin.

 

Getting close to Woojin had been surprisingly easy after Chan had sorted his shit out with Minho. In fact, it was almost _too_ easy, but Woojin was forever supportive, only showering the two with congratulations when he’d been told, and here they were, a week later, waiting expectantly in a café to finally meet Woojin’s boyfriend.

The breath rushes out of Chan’s lungs when he sees the boy walking in next to Woojin. He’s tall, dark-haired and _so fucking pretty._ His eyes glitter under the artificial lights, creasing up into tiny crescents when he smiles, and his lips- god his lips, Chan could write pages about their perfect colour and shape, and he’d still have more to say.

The curse he lets out is enough to gain Minho’s attention who sits next to him, hand that isn’t tangled in Chan’s scrolling through his phone. He looks up, then gasps himself.

“Fuck,” Minho mutters. Chan playfully raises an eyebrow,

“Something wrong?”

“Shut the fuck up, he’s _gorgeous.”_

“Hey,” Woojin is all smiles when he approaches their table and Chan grins back eagerly at the presence of the other,

“Hey hyung,”

Woojin sits and his boyfriend (who is surprisingly shy) slides in next to him, smiling at both Minho and Chan,

“I’m Hyunjin,” He says, “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Minho grins,

“Oh it’s great to meet you too.”

Hyunjin’s face shifts into something puzzled and Chan rolls his eyes,

“Ignore him. We all do.”

Minho pouts but doesn’t protest as a waitress walks over to take their orders.

 

What was supposed to be a quick lunch meet up turns into some sort of evening escapade, and when Minho suggests they head to the park and watch the sun set over the hills, nobody really protests and instead easily follow him.

The time before the sun sets is the prettiest, even though it’s cold, the sky is prettier than ever, like it’s preparing itself for a show and is handing out free tickets for everyone to watch. It sits prettily, coating the city in various shades of yellow before it bleeds into orange. When they get to the park the sun is half dipped under the green of the grassy hills, and the four boys watch in silence from a distance, fascinated by the way the colours swirl together like a Van Gough painting.

Chan has head his resting on Minho’s shoulder, and Hyunjin is fully cuddled into Woojin’s lap, and it’s nice, a peaceful change from the busy rush they’re used to- between late runs to classes and turning in half-assed essays, it feels like a breath of fresh air.

Minho squeezes Chan’s fingers between his own when the sun has completely bid farewell, resting the side of his head atop of Chan’s fluffy hair. It tickles a little, but it’s comforting, so he doesn’t move.

“I love you,” He whispers delicately, just for Chan to hear. Chan shifts a little, and Minho is momentarily scared, but Chan settles back just as quickly as he’d moved. He brings their entwined hands to his mouth, then gently presses his lips to Minho’s knuckles, an unspoken message that Minho wouldn’t ever fail to understand.

_I love you too._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wheeeeeeeee comments and kudos are appreciated :DD
> 
> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/feiixseo)
> 
> 04/03 Update: the title is taken from Written In The Stars by John Legend and Wendy


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